


Tumblr Drabbles

by arka_r, sadbabyosborn (arka_r)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Character Death, Crossdressing, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Extremis, Genderbending, Height Kink, M/M, Pre-Slash, Ragnarok, Sexism, Unplanned Pregnancy, Violence, suicide bombing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arka_r/pseuds/arka_r, https://archiveofourown.org/users/arka_r/pseuds/sadbabyosborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles from various pairings. May have different warning for each one of them.</p><p>new drabble (3/9/2015): Parksbornova no powers/college!AU, Harry, Sam and Pete go to the same college frat party and someone spikes the punch. Sam has more than a little too much and eventually starts screaming singing one direction songs on the top of his lungs and chooses some poor dude (read: peter) to pass out on top of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kirk/Spock (crossdressing)

When Spock meets Captain Kirk on the turbolift before the Alpha shift starts, he has to double-take. His captain is wearing Starfleet female standard uniform complete with a pair of black tigh-high boots. It should not affect him so.

If Spock were not a Vulcan, blood will rise up to his cheeks, coloring his pale cheeks and ears with copper green. The Captain’s thighs, he finds, are quite… _distracting_. They are adequately toned with muscles. The skin is fair and hairless. There is a dark mole on his left thigh, right under the line of his skirt; the one that humans often refer as ‘beauty mark’. Spock inspects it with utter fascination. It is, indeed, of pleasing appearance.

The Captain notices him staring.

"Yeah, shut up. Someone put a virus in my replicator and it refuses to replicate other than female standard uniform", he speaks. There is edge in his voice that Spock believes is irritation.

Spock does not understand the complication of human’s pranks, but he believes this is one. He finds it highly illogical though, as he does not find how male persons wearing female outfit is considered offensive.

"No need to get defensive, Captain. My duty aboard the _Enterprise_ is to assist the Captain, not to judge your choice of clothing. After all, your choice of clothing does not affect your capacity to lead the ship”, Spock says, then adds, “Of course, if you choose to chase down enemies, I might suggest you wearing heels with less inch, as I doubt you will be able to run in those.”

The Captain looks at him, dumbfounded.”You’re kidding”, the Captains says plainly. Deadpan, Spock recognises the human expression.

"Well, Captain, Vulcans do not kid."


	2. Kirk/Spock Prime (established relationship)

When Spock wakes, the bed next to him is empty and cold.

It is odd for him to wake long after Jim. Spock blames it to his age, though logically he still feels prime enough as he was in his fifty. He slips a dark thick robe and begins the quest to search for his mate.

His instinct tells him where Jim is, so there is where he heads to. The cold night air of New Vulcan desert hits him as he opens the door to the balcony, where Jim leans on a recliner. The piece of furniture is Jim’s own choosing, with bright and hideous color of yellow. Spock can’t find himself to disagree. After all, the recliner becomes a consolation for him when Jim leaves for the stars, if he allows himself the sentiment.

Jim does not look up when Spock stops just next to him. His eyes, bright as the Alnitak, are glued to the sprawls of stars above; the summer night sky so clear and cloudless Spock imagines he can see the whole Alpha quadrant from here. Such feat is impossible, of course.

"Are you not cold?" Spock asks.

"A bit", Jim replies.

"Shall I bring you a thermal?"

A sigh. “Nah, I’ll get in. In a moment.”

Through the bond, Spock senses longing and adoration and _love_. Spock can’t bring himself to feel jealousy. As much as Jim Kirk loves him, then and now, Spock is no match for the stars; for Jim’s love for the stars is infinite.


	3. Fem!Kirk (genderbend, sexism, violence)

"So can I hit your pretty face?"

Jimmy can’t help but roll her eyes. It’s not the first time she hears such words. It probably won’t be the last.

The man before her is bulky, towering her over two feet and twice as wide as her. To be honest, he’s not the biggest punchbag Jimmy has ever had the chance to put her fist into. He’s not even half as big as that drunk Cardassian. Nor he is as menacing.

"As if you can hit me", she sneers. She can’t wait to smash that ugly face. Why can’t she enjoy a nice shore leave and a good non-synthehol for a change? Why do morons like this one has to pop in for the sole purpose to ruin her night out with Ny and Carol?

Speaking about them both, they are already standing from their respective seats to back her up—not that Jimmy needs any.

"You’re lucky I don’t punch  _women_ ”, the guy taunts. Is that supposed to be an insult? “Though my offer stands. I don’t mind sharing you with friends. That way none of you will be left behind.”

She hates it. She  _hates_ it. He reminds her for those bastards on the Admiralty, reminds her about all the slanders she received—is still receiving—along with her command. She seduced Pike to graduate early, they say. She slept with Bones to smuggle her aboard, they say. She slept with Spock, poor innocent Spock, to get her rank, they say. They don’t know her, she says.

She punches the guy straight on his face.


	4. Loki/Tony Stark (character death, ragnarok)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted at 24 Jun 2012
> 
> Prompt from awordforyourheart @ tumblr: frostiron. Something different. Not sweet, not fluffy. Shows Loki's cruel side. Doesn't have to be nc-17. Bonus points for a little of Tony's inner thoughts as this is going down.

He lays on the ground. It’s cold. It’s freezing. His fingers twitching, one, two. He doesn’t know why he’s here. He doesn’t remember anything.

There is face of a woman fills his sight. Ah, he lays on her lap; though he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t remember her too. But she’s beautiful. There’s something in her that reminds him of someone. Someone he loves.

Where is he?

“You’re dead”, the woman’s voice fills his ears. He squints.

“Am I?” he asks. This makes no sense. He lays here, awake, in her lap. She smiles, and Tony can’t help but think of his love again. Where is he? Where is his love? Hopefully not so close with him. His love will be flipping shits if he sees him on the other woman’s lap. Such jealous, his love is.

“Who are you?” he asks again.

“Hela”, she replies. He laughs. He remembers her name, recalling the time his love mentioned it once or twice.

“Ah, Loki’s daughter”, he says.

“You died in a car crash. My father couldn’t get over with your death. He took revenge and killed whoever responsible with your death, but it wasn’t enough. He killed your teammates for being unable to protect you, your assistant and driver for surviving the crash when you’re not, then he just killed everyone. Yet it wasn’t enough for him still. So he brought forth the Ragnarok. He couldn’t live in the world without you, so he wished to end it.”

Lies. She lies. Her words make no sense. Tony looks at her, desperately trying to search a hint of lie there. When he can’t, it dreads him. It dreads him so much he wishes it’s all just a dream.

She points her finger upwards, where the sky splits in two and living fires spill downward. There are figures in the sky, fighting. He recognizes Thor and his stupid drape cape. He sees his teammate falling to his death after killing an humongous snake. He recognizes Odin, dying by the fangs of a black wolf.

His breath hitches.

He sees his love, Loki, battling someone in golden armor. Heimdall, his mind registers. He can’t tear his eyes off from Loki. Drenching in blood of his enemies, he looks so beautiful.

He read the stupid Prose Edda, once, simply curious for the story behind Loki’s life from ‘mortals’ point of view’. He knows that Loki will die too in Ragnarok, if the prophecy is true. No, he doesn’t want Loki to die. Please don’t let him to die. Oh damn, oh damn, all of this mess started by his own death.

He closes his eyes.

“Please tell me I’m dreaming”, he sobs.

“Maybe. Maybe you should stop drinking.”

Hela’s voice’s fades. The sound of battlefield fades. Tony opens his eyes again and stares up at white ceiling of his bedroom. An arm encircling his waist; Tony looks aside and sees Loki’s sleeping face.

“It’s just a dream.”

_Maybe_ , somewhere, inside his head, Hela whispers.


	5. Thor/Steve Rogers (pre-slash)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted at 6 Aug 2012.
> 
> Prompt from captainabs @ tumblr: Thundershield//Nightmare.

It was far past midnight when Steve roused from his sleep. Maybe just a couple hours from the daybreak, or maybe not; he couldn’t tell judging by how dark it was outside the window. It was raining too. Storming, to be precise, with lightnings illuminated the sky. It was kind of storm that weighing something deep inside you and you would wish for nothing more than huddling by the corner of your room with a comfort from a cup of steaming hot tea. It was one kind of storm that would bring nightmares to your sleep.

He found himself unable to get back to sleep.

Decided that it was already somewhere near dawn anyway, Steve slung his legs to his bedside and clambers out of his room. His feet was as if it moved by itself, sluggish but sure, towards the kitchen three stories below. Stark Tower, renamed Avengers HQ, was near uninhabited past midnight—except for Tony Stark himself whose person currently buried deep inside his own workshop, which Steve didn’t feel like to visit. Ever. There was also the ever-present JARVIS, the artificial intelligence whose intelligent was nearing human. It was like talking to an automobile who talked back and knew exactly what it was talking about. It was scary and flabbergasting.

Things prominently changed over seventy-and-so years, of course Steve was aware about this. Yet it scared him as always that things around him moved so fast while he was unchanged. Technology was found and forgotten; replaced by another things, and the process repeated over and over again. People he’d known died, their descendants were growing old, and the descendants of their descendants were quite adult themselves. Generations came and passed in velocity it was almost overwhelming, while Steve was still… _Steve_ , a young lad from war and old age. Someone archaic.

He poured himself a cup of coffee; Tony had a very nice coffeemaker with audio command and Steve was already shown how to use it since the first day he declared resident in the tower. It seemed that he was too lost in thought he didn’t realize that he was not alone in the room.

Thor was there, his massive self occupying one of the chairs. His face was grim and his gold locks, usually shining, were disheveled. His eyes were bloodshot and Steve’s glance instantly went to the bottles strewn all over the kitchen counter; which he recognized was snatched from Tony’s personal bar. There was another bottle in his large hand, where he took a long gulp from. The Thunderer seemed not aware of Steve’s presence in the room, too occupied with his own drink. And thought, perhaps.

It was such an unusual sight, to be honest. They had been the Avengers and teammate for three and a half years since they first assembled and they’d known each other much better—okay, maybe not _that_ better, but pretty close enough. While Tony was the team’s mood maker, throwing jokes more often than anyone else combined, he shared the title ‘center of attention’ with Thor. Gloomy was never a word to describe Thor—he was loud in his presence, smile plastered in his face, and he shone in all his majestic being. When he laughed, the entire room shook by his laugh. To see him in this state, of course, would raise anyone’s eyebrows.

“Thor?” Steve approached the seemingly sloshed Asgardian. He’d been dealing with drunken Thor on few occasion, specifically on few of their team bonding which usually involved a large amount of alcohol, courtesy of Tony and Natasha. He was proud to say that none he couldn’t handle.

The Thunderer threw him bleary look between his swigs. He seemed to recognize Steve and stopped drinking. The corner of his lips turned downward and his expression overall, Steve noted, was combination between abashed to be seen in such state and mourned.

“Captain Rogers…” he gurgled incoherently. He usually called Steve ‘Steve Rogers’ or just ‘Steve’ while off-duty.

“Can’t sleep?” Steve asked with a smile while pulling a chair to sit next to him.

“Can’t”, was the Asgardian’s only answer.

“Care to tell?” again, Steve asked, carefully. He didn’t meant to be nosey, but Thor’s condition was quite worrisome. If the Asgardian didn’t feel like to share a story or two, he was fine enough to carry his drunken teammate back to his room and forget everything that happened.

Thor took another swig and cursed in a language Steve didn’t recognize when there was little left in the bottle. Blindly, the Thunderer fumbled to find another bottle, which he found none. When he was about to make his way towards Tony’s bar, Steve held his shoulder to stop him.

“Thor, sit”, he commanded.

Reluctantly, Thor sat back.

“If something bothers you, you can always tell to someone, to _me_ , y’know”, the soldier drawled. “Instead of bottling things up.”

Silence stretched between them as none dare to speak; Steve waited for Thor’s answer while Thor seemed trying to collect his brain in the right place. The storm seemed to be louder, fiercer outside, but that could be his own imagination. Thunder stroke once, twice, before Thor eventually opened his mouth.

“I had nightmare”, he croaked.

Steve kept silent.

“I had nightmare when—when my brother—when Loki fell…” Thor continued. He took a deep breath before started speaking again. “I saw us hanging on that bridge—I held Loki by his spear and our father held us by my ankle. I—I saw his face. His expression—something broke there and he—” he stopped, broke a dry, choked sob. The whole sentence seemed like a heavy sport for him. “—he let go. He fell. The abyss swallowed him.”

Oh.

Of course, since the first time they assembled, Steve had known the whole ordeal of how Loki—and eventually, Thor—got to Earth. He knew the rough idea of it, he knew where Loki came from. Fueled by jealousy and hatred, turned into killing machine, drove by insanity. But that was that. Yet here he was, talking to a person who experienced it firsthand, who had watched how a person evolved from someone dear into mass-murderer psychopath, who was left behind and felt guilty.

He wondered, did it same with what he had experienced when Bucky fell. He wondered if Thor felt the same, wallowing in guilt and self-loathing.

“I should have protecting him”, Thor said, suddenly. “Our mother always told me that I’m the older, thus I should protect my little brother. I—I failed… I failed my brother, my mother, and my father. Whenever I see my brother, so lost and broken, I always wished to have a chance to redeem myself, to repair my err… I just want my brother back…”

The last sentence of Thor was spoken in almost whisper, and Steve found himself like watching of his self. Since Bucky fell, his dreams haunted by nightmares, repeated over and over again like a broken tape. Yes, Peggy told him that it wasn’t his fault. Still, it didn’t stop him from wallowing in guilt and self-loathing sometimes. Oh how he wished, day by day in vain, to have Bucky back, alive. But the dead couldn’t be revived, no matter how hard he wished.

He felt that Thor _actually_ had a chance. It was only Loki’s old self who had died, but his own self wasn’t. Unlike Bucky, Thor could have Loki back. Maybe sometimes far, maybe years if not millenniums later. Even as horrid as it thought, everyone could be a better person if given a second chance—even _Loki_.

Steve took a deep breath. His chest felt heavy, but he forced a smile on his lips.

“Once I had someone who close to brother to me. He… died, back in war”, Steve finally spoke as he put his hand over Thor’s shoulder. “At first, it was just… hard for me to accept that he was no longer by my side. But a friend of mine told me that I should let it go… y’know, to honor his death. Still sometimes I think ‘what if I didn’t choose that path’, ‘what if he would be alive’… Some sort. But he’s gone and it won’t bring him back. So yeah. I kind of know how do you feel.”

Thor, who listened to him in silent, looked sobered a bit. Then, he looked at Steve with condolence. 

“My apologize, Captain Rogers… I—I shouldn’t have spoken…” he rasped.

“Nu-uh, it’s okay”, he shrugged. Of course he was not _that_ okay. But he would manage. Somehow. “At least your brother is still alive. You still have your chance to redeem yourself.” _Even if the chance itself was small_. But he didn’t say that out loud.

And Thor _did_ smiled—not his gloomy smile, but his usual bright, radiating smile. His appearance was still a mess, but his smile did changed him _a lot_ ; as if life returning to his face. Then, by sudden, he pulled Steve into his signature bone-crushing hug.

“I thank you for comforting me, Captain Rogers. I really thank you”, he repeated again and again. Steve simply returned the gesture by patting Thor’s back. Maybe the nightmare wouldn’t stop, not in the close future. But knowing that someone shared the same pain, somehow it made him feeling a bit better.

“Hey, anyway, wanna go sparring?” he asked. “Morning air is always good for hangover, y’know?”

“Then shall we spar!” Thor boomed, _loud_ , as reply. Oh Holy, he was drunk alright.

And so, after finishing his already-cold coffee, Steve led Thor towards the training room.

—

They emerged from the training room two hours and a half later, utterly exhausted and slicked with sweat but grinning like a couple of loons. The storm was already disappeared a while back then and it was a quite sunny morning. While Steve tried to pry off the ever-annoying Clint who clung to his waist and nagged constantly about ‘quickly make me some foooooooooooood’, Thor strolled to bake himself some waffles.

They didn’t speak to anyone about that night, but sometimes Steve caught Thor looking at him with mixture of understanding and grateful.


	6. Kirk/Spock (genderbend, height kink)

Jemima is shorter than Spock by thirty-two point eight centimeters.

Spock finds the fact very endearing. In the privacy of the commander's quarters, during their chess matches, Jemima will strip off those menacing twelve-centimeters thick soles on her boots to add to her height. Without them, the top of her head will only reach Spock's collarbone.

In the privacy of their commanders' quarter, after yet another red alerts and Spock somehow enrages her, she will climb atop a piece of furniture before proceeding to argue with him. She makes such an endearing sight that Spock often losses at words. He does not know why would she do it, if she does it deliberately to confuse him.

"It's to get to your eye level", Dr. McCoy will tell him, when Spock broaches the subject.

Spock does not understand. If she will tell him so, he will bend his knees so he will get to her eye level. Dr. McCoy seems to read his thought, as impossible as it might be.

"Don't do it. It'll make her very self conscious", he warns him.

As they grow closer and Spock better at reading the whirlwind that is his human companions' emotions, he will notice that Jemima is indeed very self conscious about her height. On the bridge, it is easy for him to ignore her stature. Sitting on the captain's chair, she carries herself befit to her rank as the  _Enterprise_ 's captain. Even as she faces the dangers, she makes her decisions swiftly and effectively. Spock admits, his captain is a fearless leader and a highly-adequate tactician.

During diplomatic events, each one of the diplomats are towering over her height. She will smile then, her teeth gleaming white as a predator will like to pounce. During her shift, as she will inspect many layers of her own ship, she will stand with back ramrod straight, her twelve-centimeters thick sole of her black boots will stomp their way down the corridors. During off-shifts, she will attend the rec room to share drinks with the redshirts. While inebriated, they will attempt to ruffle her hair or pick her up in jest. She will glare but will not reproach them.

As they grow closer and Spock better at reading the whirlwind that is his human companions' emotions, he will also notice that only in the privacy of their shared quarters, she will slouch on her seat as she moves her chess pieces to cut cold-bloodedly on his line of defense, her back no longer stiff as a board, as a human might say. During their morning activity, after she steps out the shower booth, she will stand in her toes before the mirror, even with Spock being in her presence.

Sometimes when things get rough and few crew members have lost their lives, she will cling to him, once they're inside their quarters, her face buried in his torso. Spock will feel wetness at his middle and his hands will hover awkwardly over her head. He will pet her head then, her hair so smooth under his fingers, not unlike his I-Chaya's fur. She will stiffen but will not attempt to free herself.

As their relationship blooms, from friends, to siblings, to lovers, she will allow Spock to pet her hair often, as she clings to his body dearly. When they are aligned in their shared bed, his chin to the top of her head, her face nuzzling to his neck, her feet will only reach his knees, warm skin against his colder one. When they get too impatient in their lovemaking, she will allow him to pick her up too. Spock will carry her to their shared bed and he will be extremely careful as if afraid to drop her, though logically he knows that will not happen. At times, she will stand on her toes as she tries to kiss him and she will allow him to bend down to meet her lips.

She still wears those menacing twelve-centimeters thick soles on her boots to add to her height during her shifts. Off shifts, though, she will allow herself to wear animal-shaped flip-flops (the white rabbit ones are her favorite, so are the dark brown sehlat ones for they are gift from Spock) in the privacy of their quarters or flat shoes with decorations on them during outings. She will wear them too, during their shore leaves together.

She will wear them also when they come to New Vulcan. She wears the bright pink ones with tiny ribbons on them, or the glossy neon green ones that seem to clash awfully with the New Vulcan's red sand. Sarek will raise his eyebrows to each one of her flat shoes she wears and Spock will raise his eyebrows in return for he doesn't care.

Jemima will not grow past one point fifty three meters and her growth will be centered in her belly. It's no matter. Spock still finds her endearing.


	7. Loki/Tony Stark (post-winter soldier, angst)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Batwynn and her ability to tear my heart into shreds.

It felt like Afghanistan all over again, except multiplied by clusterfuck plus political shit. Someone had aired SHIELD’s dirty laundry for everyone to see. It was all over the internet and the media seemed to explode with various reactions coming from every layer of the society. The question was not ‘which one is HYDRA’. It was ‘which one is  _not_  HYDRA’.

Tony didn’t know who he should trust anymore. He designed those repulsor system for the thrice damned helicarriers. He  _trusted_ his weapons to SHIELD, but SHIELD was HYDRA. Was Nick Fury a HYDRA agent? But the man was dead. Tony didn’t know if he should mourn or celebrate. He decided to do both; he raised a bottle for Fury and downed it half-empty. As much a pain in the ass the man was, Fury got Tony’s respect. A pity he died. Tony wondered who killed him. Perhaps HYDRA, once they thought he was no longer useful?

His parents too were killed by HYDRA. Tony was seventeen when they died, but then he knew that not even Howard would be  _that_ reckless for DUI. When he blew up Obie’s cover, he was almost certain the slimeball was the one behind their death. But it was not. Or was Obie a HYDRA too?

He was sitting on that couch when Obie pulled the arc reactor off his chest, face pale as if death itself. He couldn’t make his words, only  _fearpainfearfearfear_ —

He downed his bottle. It was too much for him. Good riddance Mandarin destroyed his Malibu house. No, was it Killian? A voice sounded too much like Yinsen echoed in his ears.  _"What is your legacy?"_ it asked.  _Death and destruction_ , he wanted to answer. Years passed, Tony became the Iron Man. He thought he cleared himself of the red in his hands, but it was the same old song all over again.

The bottle in his hand was empty. Tony sent it crashing to the floor. Another bottle, still half full, stood before him. He was about to reach it when a pale, thin hand reached for it first. A smooth voice came from the seat beside him that was supposedly empty. ”I believe the amount of alcohol in your bloodstream is enough to kill a dragon”, it said.

Even in his current state of inebriation, Tony could still recognize that voice anywhere, or that face.

"I- I thought your- you’re dead", Tony slurs. "Thor said so."

Loki’s smile is sharp and wide and making Tony to swallow. It’s a smile of the would-be king and alpha predator and danger. “I’m wounded. You believe the words of that bumbling fool more than mine own?”

"To be honest I don’t know who to believe nowadays." Tony probably shouldn’t say that. The Earth’s would-be ruler would be laughing to death if only he knew that his would-be subjects were tearing each other.

Much to his surprise, Loki didn’t delve deeper to his words. He just had that small knowing smirk on his face. Tony want to slap that smirk away… or kiss it.  _Whoa, hold yourself_ , his mind screamed. Still, Tony feels nothing more but an insignificant pest under those unnatural green eyes’ scrutiny.  _An ant._

"Ah, yes. Your Earth’s mightiest heroes are scattering like fallen leaves before winter. Where were you when your good Captain Rogers fended off your evil?" Loki chuckles.  _Don’t listen_ , Tony told himself. But he couldn’t.  _"Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?_ _”_  The voice sounded too much like Rogers—condescending and hit way too close to his core.

Rogers was not here, but Loki was. Perhaps Tony should alert JARVIS. He… probably should do that the moment the Asgardian talked, instead of listening to his prattle about leaves.  _I’m drunk_ , Tony realized belatedly.  _Drunk and stupid._

"Wh- what do you want?" he asked. Perhaps he should reach for his armor, but Tony Stark had no armor, not anymore. What he had was JARVIS and some stupid bot he tried to salvage and reconstruct from his destroyed house.

"During our short encounter, I was…  _astonished_  by your display of wits”, Loki drawls. His fingers, thin and skin pale as the moonlight, stroke Tony’s bottle. Tony wondered how those fingers felt like when they skimmed his skin lightly, tracing patterns over his stomach.  _Holy fuck, Tony Stark, are you a decent man or a horn dog?_  He was drunker than he thought. Drunker… was that even a word?

Tony grinned, though perhaps it was more of a lewd leer than a grin. “Glad I can  _please_ Your Highness”, he slurred.

"Yes, though I am pretty disappointed that you currently have none", Loki replies. Tony should’ve been insulted. He certainly would throttle a lesser man who insulted his wit. Yet…

Loki’s fingers were still playing with the bottle, the forefinger traced the condensation near the neck. Tony couldn’t tore his eyes from the obscenity. _I’m drunk_ , he thought for the third time. He was drunk and Loki was very certainly trying to seduce his pants off. Perhaps it was his drunken mind speaking; Loki was no better than HYDRA, but at least he was not a HYDRA.

He mussed his hair and chortled. “Well, fuck me”, he groaned, exasperated.

Loki’s smirk widened. “Finally.”


	8. Spock (crackfic)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired from [this post](http://spockshair.tumblr.com/post/83102878953/wotsun-do-you-think-spock-sometimes-has-bad).

Spock arrives on the bridge five minutes and twenty-two seconds late. When he steps out the turbolift, it seems that all eyes are focusing towards him. It makes him illogically feel self-conscious all over again. He masks it with his usual nonchalance, though it’s admittedly hard when he catches the Captain’s expression.

Both of his Captain’s eyebrows are rising so impossibly high upon his forehead and Spock is ninety percent sure there’s a hint of laughter about to burst from the way his eyes shine. Spock feels blood coloring his ears. He clears his throat.

"Forgive me for my tardiness, Captain", he bows a little, if to hide the blush creeping up his face. There are times Spock loathes his human heritage. Being in an embarrassing situation is one. Sometimes he just can’t control the way his body functions the way a full-blooded Vulcan is able to.

"Uh, oh, well, report to your station, Mr. Spock", the Captain smoothes his expression into firm professionalism. Spock nods and strides towards his science station, feeling foolishly grateful that the Captain doesn’t embarrass him further. He’s almost certain that the Captain will delve into the fact that this is the first time Spock being late to report to his shift. It seems that he’s sorely underestimated the Captain.

Yet, when he thinks no one will make a joke about his… peculiar appearance, he can hear whispers coming from the navigation station. Chekov’s cheery voice rings clear to his Vulcan hearing sense.

"Why is Meester Spock’s bangs sticks out like Rasputin just slapped his face?"

The sentence is followed by shameless giggle (coming from Nyota), panicked hissing (coming from Lt. Sulu), and choked snort (coming from the Captain). Today it seems going to be a long day, Spock mentally sighs. And his hair will be sticking out stubbornly and illogically no matter what attempt he makes to straighten it.


	9. Sam Wilson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam meeting the Avengers, domestic fluff, AU where Loki is actually around and okay-ish, Bucky being little shit. Steve/Bucky, Loki/Tony Stark.

  
The tower is sparkly new. You can’t tell that it’s taken pretty bad beatup post alien invasion from the sight of it. The reconstruction job must’ve pretty hardcore. But then again the building’s owned by Stark. Nothing’s too shiny for the American’s genius billionaire.

Oh holy shit, he’s about to meet Stark. He’s gotta be since Cap said he’ll introduce ‘ _everyone_ ’. He’s about to meet the Avengers. He’s allowed to feel nervous.

Of course Cap will greet him in the lobby and of course he’s with that broody boyfriend of his too. Sam’s still a bit wary about Barnes, considering that the guy tried to kill them all three months prior. He grins at them, albeit awkwardly because come on,  _Barnes is looking at him like he’s considering which best move to kill him under five seconds._ Sam takes it as a sign that he’s so not going to clap Cap’s back, nevertheless to hug him out of camaraderie.

"I can’t believe I’m in the Avengers Tower", he says instead, pretending like Barnes is yet another potted plant in the room. Right, he’s in the Avengers Tower. He’s allowed to be excited. Cap rolls his eyes amusedly.

"Wait till you see the others", Cap shrugs.

The elevator ride takes three minutes. When they get to the upper floor, Sam’s expecting a super secret superheroes lair. He’s expecting a bunch of serious superheroes talking about villains. He certainly is  _not_  expecting Tony Stark himself clad in nothing but a pair of briefs standing close to the coffeemaker, a (naked) man latching onto his back like an oversized baby koala. Huh. Sam doesn’t know Tony Stark swings both ways.

He hears Cap clearing his throat behind him and the dark haired man releases his snake-like grip from Stark before vanishing in green cloud. Sam blinks. Stark looks at Cap, then grinning.

"The new guy? Make yourself at home", he greets.

"Nice briefs", Sam comments. Internally, he’s berating himself. Nice briefs? Way to go Sam Wilson. But Stark doesn’t seem offended; instead he stems his hands on his hips and sway them a bit. It takes Sam’s whole might not to start wolf-whistling. It’s a nice briefs, with tiny Cap patterns printed on it. No, Sam is certainly not measuring Iron Man’s dick.

"Tony,  _really_? Oh forget it, I’m going to find the others”, Cap sighs exasperatedly as he’s trailing off.

"That reminds me to find Loki too. Make yourself at home!" And with that, Stark is off too, taking the whole coffee pot with him.

So he’s left alone with nothing but shiny kitchen appliances and Barnes, who is currently in a mission to raid the pantry.

“ _Top shelf, second to your left, Mr. Barnes_ ”, a disembodied voice speaks all by sudden. Nope, Sam is so not jumping on his feet. Okay he might’ve flinched a bit.

“ _Good morning to you too, Mr. Wilson. I have added you to headcount. Feel free to explore_ ”, the voice speaks up again.

"Er", he doesn’t know what to say. "Who are you?"

“ _I am JARVIS, an artificial intelligence created by Mr. Stark to ensure his health and well-being in general. To quote Ms. Potts, I am his glorified babysitter._ ”

Huh, artificial intelligence? That sounds very much Skynet-ish.

Sam decides he’s going to ignore the AI, going for the pantry instead. Barnes is preparing a bowl of fruit loops—Sam thinks it’s pretty funny seeing an ex-Soviet assassin munching children’s cereal. Barnes is glaring at him when he’s moving towards the pantry. Sam shrugs him off. Stark says he’s okay to make himself at home; even his AI says he’s okay to explore. He might as well makes himself a cup of coffee. Or something, since Stark stole away the pot.

"Hey, you got something to drink?" Sam decides he might as well ask Barnes. It’s not like they’re going to tear each others fresh here in the Avengers’ kitchen. Barnes is ignoring him, pouring the rest of the milk into his bowl instead. There’s a prominent smirk on his face, a tiny one but it’s there. Smug little shit.

“ _There are juices in the fridge you are free to get, Mr. Wilson, but please don’t take the cranberry ones. I’d rather not call the reconstruction workers again_ ”, JARVIS suggests. Sam decides he doesn’t want to know. Freaky superheroes with their freaky habits.


	10. Spock (adopted family member, AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know that Spock and Saavik have like 20-30 years age difference but i’m going to butcher some facts here for the sake of the story.
> 
> also i’m not fluent in vulcan/romulan and i took the words completely from [here](http://www.starbase-10.de/vld/main.php?cmd=browsecat&brcat=family) and [here](http://www.rihan.org/drupal/common_words/people)

Spock was ten years, three months, twenty days of age when Sarek brought in a screaming little thing with him. The screaming little thing turned out to be a Vulcanis child; a Vulcanis-Rihansu hybrid, to be precise. Its name is Saavik. Its a she, as Sarek told him.

Amanda agreed with Sarek that Spock possessed the cognition of a Vulcan, so they had no qualm of sitting him down and explaining to him about Saavik. The complication of her birth and the situation at the moment of her birth had made her parentless. She was lucky that a VSA scientific vessel had passed by and brought her in. When they found out she was half-Rihansu, no Vulcanis wanted to adopt her. So Sarek volunteered.

"It is only logical", Sarek told Spock.

Sarek then turned Spock’s bedchamber into Saavik’s nursery since it was closer to Sarek and Amanda’s own bedchamber, while Spock was given an unused guest chamber. While it was twice as wide as his old chamber, Spock was dissatisfied that he had to give up his property to the new addition in their family. It was illogical, Spock knew. Saavik would need Amanda more, thus it was only logical to have her nursery close to Amanda’s chamber.

Spock tried to be a brother to Saavik; he tried, really. Yet it was hard not to be irritated when she screamed and cried hourly while Spock tried to meditate. At times, when Spock meditated with Sarek, Sarek would immediately put an end to their meditation session once Saavik started screaming, although they both knew Amanda would take care of her.

"Is it because she is half-Rihansu?" Spock asked Amanda once, about why Saavik was so ill tempered. It was no secret that Saavik was half-Rihansu. Even Spock’s peers knew.

What surprised Spock was that Amanda looked… surprised by his question. Her eyes rounded and her jaw slacked. It took her ten seconds to reply Spock’s question.

"What— How— Spock, where did you learn such… such  _things_?” her voice raised. Spock paused. Why would his question offend Amanda so much?

"According to my observation, she cries every night, between twenty-two and six hour, approximately once every two hours", Spock stated. It was a fact.

"Oh Spock", Amanda smiled. "She cries because she’s a baby. A baby can’t speak, not yet, so they cry to convey her feelings; whether it is from hunger, thirst, discomfort, or fear. All babies cry. It’s not exclusive to Rihansu", she paused, then added, "Even you cried."

Spock didn’t know what to make of it. What would be Saavik feared of while she was safe, well fed, and well cared? He felt that he would need further inquiry about Vulcanis infant, as he believed subjects about Rihansu infant would be limited.

He did, and found that even infants had developed bond with its parents. He did not know about Rihansu, but he believed that Saavik had developed parental bond with her Vulcanis parent. Perhaps the broken bond was what caused her fear and discomfort. But surely Sarek had thought to bring her to mental healers so the broken bond would not endanger her.

Further researches brought Spock to conclusion, albeit unscientifically reached conclusion, that perhaps the lack of bond caused her fear and discomfort. As young as he was, even Spock had several bonds formed and intertwined like finely woven webs. They helped him to control his own emotions, acting perhaps like a dampener and stabilizer. He shuddered internally, unable to think how one would live without bond.

This left him another question. How could one form familial bond to fostered member of the family? When Spock asked Sarek, his  _sa-mekh_  would reply that closeness would be of requirement.

Spock interpreted it that physical closeness would be needed. So when Saavik started to cry, he rose from his meditation mat and went to her nursery, at times I-Chaya would tag along on the way. Amanda would be there already. At times, Spock wondered if she was able to sleep well since Saavik arrived into their household. After all, humans needed sleep more than Vulcanis did.

The first time he appeared in Saavik’s nursery, with I-Chaya in tow, his  _ko-mekh_  looked surprised.

"Spock?" she asked. "Did Saavik disturbed your meditation?"

"Affirmative mother", Spock nodded. Thankfully, she did not ask him to clarify further. She let him observe from the distance, although the same could not be said with I-Chaya. The old  _sehlat_  peered closer curiously to the bundle in Amanda’s hands.

The third time he appeared in Saavik’s nursery, Amanda finally asked, “Would you care to hold her while I make her sustenance?”

Dutifully, he nodded. Still he squirmed in discomfort when she handed Saavik away.

She was small. Spock did not know that a child could be so small, nor did he remember being that small. Her hands were balled into tiny, tiny fists. Her eyes, dark and Vulcanoid, were wide and focused toward him. She was surprisingly very attentive for a child of her age.

She flailed her tiny, tiny arms but otherwise she was unmoving. Still, Spock was afraid to move, lest he would drop her. With her in his arms, Spock was afraid to hurt her,  _terrified_ that he, or any other ones in that matter, would hurt her. Suddenly, he felt anger; anger towards the High Council who were so quickly to abandon her because of her Rihansu blood, anger towards his peers at academy who mocked her Rihansu blood, anger towards himself…

With her in his arms, Spock realized that Saavik’s Rihansu blood did not matter at all. She was still a Vulcanoid and her blood would be green, just like his. Even if her blood would be red or purple, it did not matter either. She was _k’war’ma’khon_. Furthermore, she was his  _ko-kai_ and  _pi-maat._

His newfound but sudden protectiveness was quite surprising. Spock blinked. Saavik flailed again, then giggled. Rushes of emotions flooded through his mental barrier in jumbled up images; contentment, joy, safety…  _family, family, family, dinam, dinam, dinam—_

"Thank you for taking care of her, Spock", Amanda was suddenly next to him. She was bringing a bottle of milk for Saavik. Spock returned her to his  _ko-mekh_ and asked to be excused for the night.

He was not entirely surprised when he found a thread of freshly formed bond entwining along with his bond with his  _mekhlar_. When he prodded it with his mental finger, it buzzed with happiness and  _dinam_ , the word repeated over and over and over. The sensation was not quite unpleasant, he admitted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translation:  
>  Vulcan:**  
> -sa-mekh: father  
> -ko-mekh: mother  
> -k’war’ma’khon: as close as family but not genetically related (so i’m going to assume it applies to foster family)  
> -ko-kai: sister  
> -pi-maat: kin
> 
>  **Romulan:**  
>  -dinam: brother
> 
>  **On the unrelated note:** vulcan language and romulan/rihan language are actually not that similar. so a starship officer (a chief communication nonetheless) who can’t distinguish the two is actually pretty stupid excuse to give uhura her rank. and no i don’t hate uhura, it’s just that i feel they can give better excuse to give uhura her rank on the STXI. oh well…


	11. Kirk/Spock (genderbend, unplanned pregnancy)

"This stomach bug…" Jemima groans once they’re inside the turbolift. Pained expression is upon her face and her hand clutches tight around her belly. Pain flares through the bond for a split-second before it’s shut off. Spock becomes alerted immediately.

"You are unwell. You need to seek Dr. McCoy."

Jemima meets his eyes, looking horrified. “No, absolutely not”, she scowls. “I ate something funny yesterday, on the meeting with the colonists. Perhaps that’s why.”

Her nonchalance did not dissuade Spock of his concern. If any, it makes him more alarmed. One year three months twenty two days into their five year mission has make Spock understand more about the complexity that is Jemima Kirk. She cares her crews better than she cares her own body, this Spock knows. As her second in command, now her friend and lover also, he will ensure she will not neglect her own health. Still, he needs to word out his concerns carefully, else she will balk.

"It will sadden me if you are of poor health", Spock states. It’s not a lie. From his observations, Jemima will submit to his plea when he shows his emotions. It works with ninety-seven point three percent rate of success.

When she opens her mouth to reply, Spock quickly adds, “Also, if you are in unfit condition to run the ship, it will cost us badly in case emergency situation happens.” It’s also a fact.

"Fine. I’ll meet Bones tomorrow", she pouts after a beat of silence. "I need to do my monthly checkup anyway."

Spock hides his smile, pleased, then resumes his reciting about the evacuation progress of the colonists from Omicron Ceti III.

-

"Congratulations", Bones says with a smile, tricorder in his hand still whirring. Jimmy slides off the biobed. Smiling Bones is  _always_ bad. It means something horrible will happen, or is happening, to her.

"What? I have cancer?" Oh god, is the Berthold rays really  _that_  dangerous? She beamed down only for a day full, far from the seven-day exposure safe limit. Does this means the crewmembers who beamed down with her are also affected with the rays?

From the other side of the medbay, Spock’s eyes are snapping from the PADD in his hands to Jimmy. She ignores him. She will panic when it comes to it, but not before.

"No. But you’ve got a parasite inside your body. It will suck nutritions off your blood cells", Bones pauses. Now that’s not good. At all. But before she can reply, he cuts her off. "Oh, it also basically lives inside you for nine months before it will burst out. It may or may not be mortal to you, but it will certainly be  _very_ painful.”

She gapes.

Spock must’ve hearing it because he’s already making his way towards her biobed, his face impassive like a rock on the Vulcan Forge—though Jimmy can see worry clouding his eyes.

"Enlighten me, Doctor. We encountered no animal life from the planet, let alone a parasite that is harmful to human body. I believe you had checked the colonists and found that none of them carrying similar symptom to the captain", Spock’s eyes narrow dangerously.

Bones is still fiddling with his tricorder. The thing whirs so annoyingly. Jimmy thinks Bones does it deliberately to annoy her. Bones can be very mean when he wants to.

"It’s not from Omicron Ceti III. It’s something different.", finally her CMO replies, then looking at Spock. "I can remove it. But it must be on your consent. On both of you." And he’s still  _smiling_.

It suddenly occurs to her.

"Wait, I’m not pregnant, am I?"

-

Their screeching can be heard rooms away. A cramped starship hides nothing and the walls are not as soundproof as people believes them. There are ears everywhere, voluntary or not. Janice is certainly not spying, not at all. She’s just passing by the medbay, purely by accident.

"—is impossible due to my mixed heritage", Spock’s voice sounds edgy.

“ _—first_ Terran-Vulcan hybrid, how can you be  _so_  certain that your sperm is not potent?!” Dr. McCoy’s voice is close to yelling. Janice’s ears are pricking up at the word ‘sperm’.

"—but I  _tied my tubes_ , Bones! I can’t be  _pregnant_!”

Janice feels like she’s getting enough. She slinks away from Deck 5, her mind racing with thoughts.  _The captain is pregnant? With **Mr. Spock** 's child?_

She can’t wait to tell her fellow yeomen about this. Mears will certainly be  _very_ heartbroken.

-

Vulcans are touch telepaths. Bracketing his arms around his mate’s body, Spock is able to feel her many emotions flooding his mind. Most of them are fear. The rests are combinations of shock, confusion, and irritation. He tries to filter the sensation, all while sending comforting thoughts to his  _t’hy’la_ through the bond.

She’s so small inside his arms. She’s not the fierce captain who could face a deranged Romulan from the future or a bloodthirsty augment from Eugenic War. She’s just… a woman.

Spock is quite taken aback as he remembers just how young she is still, only twenty eight years of age and already a captain of the Starfleet’s finest flagship. It’s easy to forget. Her mind is brilliant and Spock can’t expect to serve under a better captain, or to bond to a better person. Odd it might be, he is gladdened that T’Pring absolved their bond when Spock left for Starfleet. He never did feel for her like he feels for Jemima.

Still, Spock doesn’t know how to react. He wishes to keep the child, wishes to hold them and love them. Being a hybrid, he’s almost certain of his fertility, or the lack of it. This pregnancy is completely unexpected and near impossible too. He knows that Jemima has permanently sterilized herself when she received her captaincy, something to counter the whispers and idle gossips that a woman can’t be a good captain, let alone handling the Federation’s finest flagship.

Something must’ve happened. He will consult to his scanner and later meditate on the matter.

Meanwhile logically, he knows that it will not be safe. A starship on a five-year mission is no place for a child to grow. Their mission is exploring and starmapping the uncharted area of the Alpha quadrant, yes, but it’s not impossible to cross path with hostile entities every now and then. The captain’s battle with the Gorn captain is a fine example.

Even when Spock ensures the safety of their child, there is Jemima’s own opinion to be put into consideration. She seemed horrified as she found out about her pregnancy, and since she keeps denying it, pretending that it’s all a cruel jape coming from Dr. McCoy or a bad dream.

He loathes to broach the subject, yet he has to.

"Do you wish to terminate the fetus?" Spock asks, licking his lips afterward. It sounds queer to refer to his own blood as if it’s a thing. He bites back the storm of emotions whirling inside him—a fetus during early stage of pregnancy lacks brain function, thus not considered alive. He must put Jemima’s opinion before his.

She stiffens for a moment but stays silent. Spock exhales resignedly. There are times when she will be pretending to be asleep to avoid or postpone personal discussion. It seems this will be one of those times. He doesn’t want to put stress more than he already did.

So he presses his lips to the top of her head and closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i lost interest in the middle of writing this so i don't know if i'm going to continue it or not...


	12. Peter Parker/Sam Alexander/Harry Osborn (character death, suicide bombing, grieving)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from anon at tumblr. USMverse; you know how USM harry needs to be rescued/protected a lot? a fic in which he actually dies, and how his death affects peter, norman, MJ, the team, etc. parksborn and/or parksbornova are always welcome!
> 
> i haven't finished this, because writing this hurt me so SO MUCH. i don't like writing deathfic in general, but this is an interesting prompt. i will try to rewrite this and add norman and mj's pov at later date.

**Ava**

 

Sometimes she thought, what would’ve happened if the team was better, faster, stronger. What would’ve happened to those civilians if they trained four hours a day instead of their usual two hours. Perhaps those civilians would’ve been on their home where they belonged, with their family. Safe.

 

The team arrived a minute too late to the scene where the second appearance of Extremis of that day took place. If only they arrived one minute earlier, they would’ve prevented it. They would’ve neutralized the Extremis, let it explode somewhere else just like the Avengers neutralized one at the Stark Industries. But as it was, all they could do was to stand and watch the destruction before their eyes.

 

When the team arrived, the street was like a scene coming straight from nightmares. A huge crater where the Extremis exploded was the epicenter of this disaster. It exploded right there on the sidewalk, during the most crowded time at the Boxing Day. The explosion was hot enough to bend poles and vaporize human bodies. Those who were lucky enough to be further from the epicenter were roasted alive like animals. Men and women, children and their parents, civilians… There were bodies everywhere, burned to the point they became unrecognizable or mangled beyond recognition from the shockwave. There were screams of those who survived, injured, or dying.

 

They didn’t even realize Harry Osborn was on that street. The bodies looked all the same; black like charcoal from the sheer heat of the Extremis. It took the forensics twelve hours to identify nine bodies out of four hundreds. Twelve hours had passed since the initial explosion, the team were watching the news from the screen at Tricarrier’s debriefing room; and when the newscaster read the names of the identified victims, Harry’s name was one of them.

 

Peter walked out of the room right in that instant, but Sam… poor Sam was too stunned to move. He stared at the screen with blank face, as if he was still trying to process this information. Fury, who was also present in there, pulled Sam away from the room. It was not until the door closed behind them, she could hear Sam’s muffled screams carried through the thick metal door.

 

“He wasn’t supposed to be there!” she could hear Sam screaming. “We’re supposed to meet somewhere else _five miles_ from there!”

 

She also could hear Fury murmuring at him, but she couldn’t make out his words. She closed her eyes when she heard Sam letting out a long, anguished cry. She might not know Harry Osborn personally, but she knew that both Sam and Peter were dating him. Sam’s grief of losing him felt too real to her, just like the guilt heavy in her heart.

 

If only they were faster. If only they were stronger.

 

\--

 

**Sam**

 

Sam ran away from the Tricarrier that night. He put on his Nova helmet and, without caring about the direction, he flew on, and on, and on…

 

It didn’t mean to end like this. Harry was not supposed to be there. He wasn’t supposed to be in that street at that hour. They were supposed to meet at a cafe that day, five miles away from that street—just the three of them… Harry, Peter, and himself, to have the day for themselves after Christmas dinner at Aunt May’s. But then he and Peter got duty call from SHIELD. Harry had to be wandering around after they left, all alone and definitely sulking. Sam wondered what would’ve happened if he ignored the call. 

 

He felt cold chilling to his bones. North Pole, South Pole… It didn’t matter where he was. He just wanted to _run_. He thought with running, the pain would be left behind. He was wrong.

 

He landed on the top of an iceberg and discarded his helmet. He threw it to the side where it landed on the snowy ground with a clanging noise. He couldn’t even save the only person he wanted to save the most. Why should he don that helmet, then? Why should he fight?

 

The selfish part of him said that he should’ve ignored the call, he should’ve let the Extremis running rampant. After all, it was the Boxing Day—Nova was allowed a day off, right? Didn’t SHIELD have more experienced superheroes at their disposal? Let them handle it. If he ignored the call, at least Harry wouldn’t be there where it exploded. Who the hell cared when other people died? At least Harry would’ve lived. 

 

He didn’t know how long he stayed on that iceberg. He didn’t even realize the cold that was numbing his fingers. All he wanted was to return home, to return to the warmth of Harry’s embrace. That made him burst out crying again. Harry always loved to hug him and pick him up, carrying him around and causing Sam to shriek. Sam always told Harry that he hated it, told him to stop and that he wasn’t a small child. Now he would give everything just to have Harry’s hug again.

 

He heard footsteps from behind.

 

“The coroners are giving his body to May Parker. She’s going to arrange his funeral. Apparently, Harry named her as his guardian after Norman disappeared”, Fury’s gruff voice carried over the wind. Of course SHIELD was tracking him.

 

“When is the funeral?” Sam asked. His voice was hoarse, probably from crying and the cold.

 

“Probably tomorrow morning. We can still attend it if we’re going back now”, Fury replied, and Sam noticed how he used ‘we’. Not ‘you’, ‘we’. 

 

Slowly, he stood up and followed Fury into the Quinjet. At the bottom of the ladder, Fury handed him his helmet. He shook his head.

 

“I don’t want to see it yet. If—If I’m not Nova, I won’t be ditching Harry and—” His voice was stuck in his throat. He looked away and furiously wiped at the newly formed tears off his eyes.

 

“That is survivor’s guilt. You did more good when you’re Nova, you saved a lot of people as Nova. I told you this and I’m telling you now; Harry Osborn’s death is not your fault”, Fury said. “It’s my fault. If only I didn’t miscalculate the time the Avengers needed to wrap up the Extremis situation at Tony Stark’s place, the situation would’ve been different. I’m sorry.”

 

It wasn’t until then Sam understood just how much burden weighing Fury’s shoulders. A small miscalculation, a small mistake, and hundreds of people died. That was the burden that he also shared, as Nova, as part of the team. If only they arrived faster. If only they were stronger.

 

Sam took the helmet from Fury’s hand and weighed it in his palms. He didn’t think he was ready to be Nova again. Maybe later, but not now. 

 

\--

 

**Peter**

 

Grief could do funny things to people. To Peter, it made him function in autopilot.

 

He noticed that he was doing that when he lost Uncle Ben. He was doing it again now. As soon as he heard Harry’s name was read as one of the victims, a part of his mind tried to deny it while the other part was making a list. The list was replayed over and over in his head, like some broken record. Call Aunt May, go to the morgue, arrange the funeral. Call Aunt May, go to the morgue, arrange the funeral.

 

He didn’t realize that he swung all the way to the morgue. He didn’t realize when he took off his spidey suit and changed it to civvies. At the morgue, he stood waiting for Aunt May, watching the stream of people filling the lobby, wailing in grief at their lost families. He didn’t even cry. He just felt… he didn’t know what he felt. The list was still replaying in his head. Call Aunt May, go to the morgue, arrange the funeral.

 

Aunt May hugged him as soon as she saw him. When he buried his face to her shoulder, he was reminded all too strongly at that night when he lost Uncle Ben. It was only then he broke down crying. Tonight, he lost Harry too.

 

He didn’t count how long he stayed like that, in his aunt’s embrace and cried his eyes out. He didn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed. Once he released her, he felt like a mess. Gently, Aunt May wiped his eyes with her handkerchief, whispering encouraging words to his ears.

 

Aunt May seemed more like a superhero in gleaming Iron Man suit at that moment. Her voice was unwavering as she told an officer that she was guardian to Harry Osborn; and when the officer guided him into the room, her steps were precise. Peter could only hold her hands, hoping it would give him strength. 

 

If it weren’t for the label on the bed, Peter wouldn’t have guessed that the body was Harry. He wanted to pounce at the officer, shake him until he realized that he identified the wrong body, that there was _no way_ this body was Harry’s. Harry was big and soft and cuddly. Peter loved to lie his head down over his belly as Harry recited Shakespeare to him, and they would laugh at many innuendos the genius put inside his works. This body… it looked nothing like Harry.

 

“These were found with him”, the officer handed him a few things. Peter took them eagerly, as if they could solve the mystery of the universe. Maybe they could, in a way.

 

One of them turned to be Harry’s wallet. It made of fine leather and became brittle from the heat. The cards were half-melted and let out strong smell of burned plastic, and some bills inside were charred… but what attracted Peter’s attention were a photograph, also half charred. He could still make out shapes on it and recognized it as Harry, Sam, and himself. It was a photo they took when they visited Coney Island two weeks ago. Harry was keeping the photograph of them and carrying it with him everywhere.

 

The second item was a metallic bracelet, plain and simple if singed and slightly bent out of shape. The bracelet was engraved with ‘Nerd #1’. Peter remembered that Harry always hated accessories, yet tolerated bracelets and wristwatches somehow. But he couldn’t remember if Harry had it when he and Sam ditched him off. 

 

The third item was a wooden box, half charred but somehow was still intact though the paper used to wrap it was completely burned. He could still see some of the beautiful carvings on its lid. He opened it and found two metallic bracelets inside, identical to the first one although these two were in pristine condition. When he examined them further, he found engravings on them. One had ‘Nerd #2’ and the other had ‘Nerd #3’ on it.

 

It suddenly clicked. Harry had bought matching bracelets for the three of them and paid an engraver to carve ‘Nerd’ on them. Somehow, it was so… _them_. The three of them weren’t romantic—heck, Harry was demiromantic, while Sam was purely aromantic—so cutesy nicknames were definitely out of the window, unless they decided to be disgustingly annoying. 

 

Peter didn’t realize that he was laughing and sobbing at the same time. He caught the officer looking at him confused and Aunt May slightly worried.

 

“He’s such a nerd”, Peter told her, still laughing. Tears were still falling from his eyes and he tried to rub them away with his sleeve to no avail. Still blinded by his own tears, he felt Aunt May’s arms around him and he sobbed even more.

 

Aunt May steered him to the lobby where he then sat on a bench while she filled the paperworks. The lobby became even crowded as more victims were identified. Some volunteers came to offer bread and canned coffee to the grieving families, some also talked in consolation to them. Peter watched them flitting about. A priest was reading a passage from the Bible. Though he was never a religious person, Peter still recognized it as Revelation 21:4. His voice lulled Peter to sleep.

 

When he woke up, there was Aunt May’s jacket covering him and she sat next to him. She smiled once she realized that he was awake.

 

“How long I was asleep?” he asked. He was still clutching Harry’s possessions.

 

“Half an hour, maybe. You should go home”, she said.

 

“Later”, he decided. And then, “I’m waiting for someone.”

 

“Sam?” she asked. Peter nodded. “He’ll come. Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up when he comes.”

 

Peter nodded again and closed his eyes, thankful that she didn’t talk about feeling thing. He didn’t think he was ready for that yet… he knew he should be, but not now at least. That damned priest was now reading John 3:16. Eternal life… _If only_ , he thought.

 

He felt like he only slept for a wink when Aunt May shook him awake. Groggily, he wiped tears from his eyes and turned at where Aunt May pointed. Sam was walking towards them

 

“S’up”, Sam greeted him, sullen and beaten. His eyes were red-rimmed, his nose was red too.

 

“Hey”, Peter stood and pulled him into a hug. He could feel Sam’s body stiffen in his arms and for a moment Peter wanted to kick himself mentally when he realized why. His relationship with Sam was built on terrible puns and insults. Hugging and cuddling were more of Harry’s things. Peter broke the hug as if scalded.

 

Awkward.

 

“I’m going to leave you boys. I need to talk to the funeral director”, Aunt May kissed Peter’s cheek and walked away. Both of them watched her disappear between the throng of people, before sitting back down.

 

What should he say to Sam? Should he tell Sam he knew how he was feeling? Well, somehow he had a feeling Sam would snark back, of course he knew how he was feeling. They were losing the same person. He didn’t think telling Sam to be strong would get a positive feedback. He was feeling the opposite of strong himself at that moment. All he wanted was to sleep it off, pretend it never happened, have breakfast…

 

“It’s weird”, Peter blurted out.

 

“Yeah”, Sam agreed.

 

“This is so weird. I feel like he’s going to grab us into tight hug anytime and tell us not to be sad anymore”, Peter continued.

 

Sam let out a choked sob. “And drag us off to this new burger joint he just found because their shakes are to die for.”

 

Peter actually laughed at that, the first genuine laugh he had since he found out about Harry’s death… four hours before.

 

“That is a terrible pun and you should be ashamed of yourself”, he nudged Sam’s shoulder. Then, he remembered about Harry’s possessions. He handed them to Sam. “Here. They said they found them with him or something.”

 

Sam was silent as he examined Harry’s last possessions, but Peter could understand what he was thinking. No doubt, he was thinking the same thing that he thought.

 

“He’s such a dumb nerd”, Sam sniffed, but he smiled softly as he saw the bracelets.

 

“The biggest nerd”, Peter agreed.

 

“I don’t think there’s a bigger nerd than him out there, and I mean, Star Lord isn’t as nerdy as him”, Sam chuckled a little.

 

“He’s an intergalactic nerd”, Peter nodded. “I bet he’s going to keep them all night under his pillow, turning and tossing on his bed thinking if he should give them to us or not.”

 

“And in the end, he will give them to us at breakfast. Telling us he didn’t remember when or how he got them”, Sam added. Peter grinned but it hurt. It hurt so much to grin.

 

“And he’s going to make up stories about memory alteration or Jehovah’s Witness forcing him to buy them.” Peter sobbed. It hurt so much to think about it. Harry was dead. Dead, like Uncle Ben. Covering his face with his hands, he cried again.

 

He could feel Sam putting a tentative arm around his shoulder, then leaning his head slightly so it touched Peter’s. They stayed in that position for who knew how long. Once he calmed a little, he put a hand over Sam’s.

 

“I’m going to miss that nerd so much”, he told Sam, then he turned to face him. His boyfriend; partners, Harry preferred to call their weird three-way relationship. He used to have two. Now he had to live with one. Weird. “Are you going to see his body?”

 

Sam shook his head slightly. Their heads were still touching. “I want to remember him as he was when he lived, not as—” Sam choked, then sniffed.

 

“I totally understand. Still, I wanted to see him for the last time”, Peter admitted weakly.

 

With great power came great responsibility, Uncle Ben used to say. Now Peter realized that he wasn’t only responsible as Spider Man, but also as Peter Parker. Harry’s death was a result of him failing to fulfill that responsibility and the image of his dead, charred body would be forever ingrained in his mind, to serve as reminder of what would happen to those that he loved if he failed.

 

“It’s not your fault, Webs”, Sam muttered.

 

“Hypocrite. You think it’s your fault too”, Peter countered. Sam sighed, Peter felt his shoulders raised when he took a deep breath. At least Sam was still alive, still breathing. Peter was clutching at his hands, thinking that if he let go, he would disappear too.

 

“What are we gonna do now?” Sam asked with small voice. The list danced again, though it changed slightly. Arrange the funeral, go home, get breakfast.

 

“Survive, I guess”, Peter replied.

 


	13. Peter Parker/Sam Alexander/Harry Osborn (college AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from my bae: uni AU, Sam and Pete go to the same college frat party and someone spikes the punch. Sam has more than a little too much and eventually starts screaming singing one direction songs on the top of his lungs and chooses some poor dude (read: peter) to pass out on top of.
> 
> decided to make this Parksbornova. sorry~

Peter knew he should’ve stayed behind. After all, he rarely got time to breathe between lab project and classes and internship. His schedule was so crazy that it was such a miracle that he didn’t go bald. Maybe that was the reason why Harry dragged him out tonight. “To live a little”, he said. Peter just couldn’t say no to his roomie slash best buddy.

 

Yet, squished between the writhing, sweaty bodies, Peter wondered if he should’ve said ‘no’ for once. The room smelled awful, the music was too loud—and, God, was that One Direction music blaring from the shitty sound? Peter pressed his back even further into the wall, hoping that it would swallow him and away from this… this _madness_.

 

The girls on his right started making out. Peter tried to inch away from the two, but his hip was already digging almost too painfully to the table on his left. He was still trying to block out everything around him when Harry bursted out of the crowd, holding two plastic cups of something that was probably meant to be punch.

 

“Eeeeeeyy, Puh—Petey, mah man”, Harry slurred and latched onto Peter like a giant squid. Peter closed his eyes and counted down from ten. _Of course_ the punch was spiked.

 

“Hey buddy”, Peter grinned awkwardly at his roomie, not that Harry was sober enough to notice. “Seem like you had too much fun there. Wanna leave the party early?”

 

Peter could feel Harry nodding to his chest so he shifted his friend to a more comfortable position.

 

“Let me get those for you, mkay?” Peter gently pried the cups from Harry’s hands and placed them on the table… where more cups were lined up, all still full and untouched. Harry had brought them one by one when he actually remembered about Peter; not that Peter drank any of it, though.

 

With Harry’s arm slung around his shoulder, Peter started to drag his friend through the masses. Okay, in the hindsight, he should’ve remembered it—but Harry was _heavy_ , while Peter was this walking stick nerd with thick-as-a-brick glasses. It took him all his effort just to drag this dead weight of a friend a few feet from the starting point.

 

His only warning (or not really) was when the whole room erupted in an almost-synchronized shout to the song, and then there was someone singing the chorus to ‘Live While We’re Young’ at the top of their lungs in an drunkenly manner that was too garbled to comprehend. Said someone was barrelling right at him, making him land flat on his back. His first thought was ‘Fuck’, then ‘Harry!’

 

Harry, surprisingly, was out cold next to him with his other arm outstretched (someone would step on it, Peter had to think).

 

Then, Peter looked down on his chest, where the perpetrator of this mess was _drooling_ on his chest. Yuck! Peter opened his mouth, about to rant on how someone could’ve died, what the hell—when the guy tilted his head slightly.

 

“Think m’gonna throw up”, was all the stranger said before stretching to Peter’s side and sick all over the floor.

 

That was it. Peter was So Done with his life at this point. Screw friendship, next time Harry wanted another outing, he had to remove Peter off his bed with a crowbar.

 

\--

 

He met the Drunk Guy the next day at the nearest McDonald’s where Harry was treating him lunch as apology for the night before. The guy introduced himself as Sam Alexander. Peter would think he was cute with his button nose and knobby knees if he didn’t remember him sicking all over the floor—that was an image he could live without.

  
Sam bought Peter and Harry vanilla cones for the trouble he caused at the party; and that was how it all started.


End file.
